


089 - Another Dad Van Fic

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Dad Van, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompts “you finding out you’re pregnant a few weeks before van goes on tour, so when he comes back a few months later you have a big bump. He’s seen pictures while he’s been away, but seeing it in person and feeling your belly blows his mind” and “Can you write about Van with his tiny new baby and he’s terrified to share his baby with the boys because he’s absolutely convinced that Larry will drop it”





	089 - Another Dad Van Fic

The tour plans were already set in stone by the time you found out you were pregnant. You weren't worried though. Van would be gone for almost three months but during the second trimester. He'd be back for when you actually needed him, and you got the news early enough that they could postpone more touring and the album release for a while after he got back. You didn't like that he'd have to do any of that. Catfish were on a roll, and stopping that momentum made you guilty. Van assured you that you were always his first priority and that his future babies would be too. He wanted a family, and nothing was more important than that at the end of the day.

On the day he left for the U.S. (and Canada and Australia and Japan and Brazil and everywhere ever) your baby bump was hardly a bump at all. You were somewhere in your third month of pregnancy. You looked online at other people's bodies. The really thin people had obvious bumps, but you didn't. It was hidden somewhere under your pointy hip bones and pre-existing belly. Van kissed you hard and you could feel that he didn't want to leave; his fingers were twisted through yours too tight, he wouldn’t lift his forehead from yours. When the final boarding call sounded, and Larry came to pull him away, Van dropped to his knees and started to talk to your womb.

"Alright. Baby. It's me. Listen. I'm sorry that you're going to grow so much and I'm not gonna be here to see it. I promise I'll never miss anythin' else, ever. You need to be good while I'm gone. Don't fuck with your mum's back, or sleep on her bladder. She needs to sleep at night, not get up to pee twenty times. Stay healthy, and don't start kickin' till I get back. Be good. I love you." You watched him talk to the almost-bump with a smile. You glanced up at Larry, who was also watching with a grin on his face. Van lifted your shirt and kissed your skin. Then, he stood and held you again. "I'm so fucking sorry, Y/N,"

"Van. We've been through this. The next few months aren't anything much. It's all good. Just come home safe, yeah?"

"I love you," he answered, holding your face in his hands. You nodded, and let him kiss you hard again. You hugged Larry one last time, and whispered to him to look after Van.

"Always," he replied.

You watched them walk away, and felt an overwhelming sense of panic that was hard to swallow.

…

From the road Van asked for photos of your ever-expanding body. As soon as he left, you just kind of popped. As the days turned into weeks, and those into a couple of months, you watched your body change. You felt it too, and you started to feel the movement of life inside you. You would sit at the table in the kitchen and talk to Van over Skype, listening to him beg to see his baby again. In the beginning you had stayed alone in the house Van had bought for you. It was a cottage with lavender bushes out front and veggie patches out back. The dream. You started to miss him, though, and the walls of the home felt cold. You stayed with friends, and rotated between them. You spent a couple weeks with Mary and Bernie too, when the morning sickness became too much. Everyone was wonderful and supportive, but they just weren't Van.

The day he was coming home you spent the morning baking fresh banana bread. You kept the house quiet, music free, to listen to the sound of a car door… anything that would indicate he was finally back. You had about two hours until he'd be home, so you napped. 

When your eyes fluttered open, you almost jumped out of your skin. Van was sitting on the coffee table that you had dragged close to the couch so you could reach your tea easier. He was sitting with his elbows on his thighs, and his head in his hands. You sat up, a little disorientated. You had expected a dramatic fall into his arms, kissing, hugging, tears. Instead you sat quietly looking at each other. The skin under his eyes had the purple tinge of sleep deprivation. He needed to wash his hair. There was a bruise on his left cheekbone. You stood up, and as you did he held a hand out to steady you. You pulled your t-shirt up over your head, and stood in your track pants and maternity bra.

Van let go of you and covered his mouth with both hands. His eyes went glassy, and he looked at the beautiful, big swell. You were almost at the six month mark. He reached out and held his hands to your skin.

"They haven't kicked yet, but they're moving," you whispered. He looked up at you and a tear rolled down his cheek, past the bruise.

"Babe," he said, lost for words. He looked back at the bump, and moved his hands to hold your sides. He pulled you closer so he could kiss your skin. "It feels harder than I thought,"

"Did you think babies were made of jelly?"

He smiled up at you. "You're so warm too."

You let him sit and run his hands all over you. He didn’t just want to get to know the shape of his child, safe inside you, but wanted to know all of the changes. Reacquaint himself with you.

The next morning, after the best night's sleep either of you had had in months, the baby kicked for the first time. It woke you up. "Van. Van!" you called. He shot up. "No. Calm down," you said quickly when you realised he thought something was wrong. "Look. Feel this. Give me your hand." You helped him find the little foot.

"Fuck. Babe. They're gonna be a pro footballer, yeah?"

…

As you settled into bed one night, you asked Van if he was afraid. He was so unafraid that he didn't understand what you were asking. "Of what?" he said casually, pulling the blanket around both of you. You watched him hitch your shirt up around the bump. He spent a lot of time tracing the blue veins that had appeared on your skin. Sometimes it was like the baby knew Van was watching, and a creepy hand or foot outline would become visible. The baby reacted to Van's touch and voice.

"Of all of this. Being a parent. Having a baby,"

"No. We're gonna be dead good at this, Y/N,"

"How do you know?"

"Well, you somehow kept us all alive this long. We'd probably be homeless or dead without you. Remember when you met me and Larry?"

"Yeah. You'd not eaten properly in days,"

"Exactly. If you can raise us lads, you can raise a baby. Easy," he said, confident and sure.

"How do you know you'll be a good dad?"

"Think it's just in my blood. McCann's raise good kids." You agreed. You were still worried, though. You couldn't figure out why. You did believe that you and Van would be good parents. You knew, theoretically, how it would all work. You trusted in your support network too. Something, though, was eating away at you.

…

You overheard Van talking to Bob. You'd fallen asleep on the couch, and when you woke up they were in the kitchen. You didn't mean to listen in, but you had stopped walking to yawn, then just didn't start again. Van said he'd never loved you more than he did then. Pregnant you was his favourite. You realised what you were so terrified of.

Later that night you sat in a bath. There were no bubbles or colour. You just wanted clean, hot water. All the smells of the bathbombs were making you feel sick. Van left you alone for a minute, to go turn the electric blanket on. As soon as he left you started to cry. You tried not to, but hormones were wreaking havoc on your emotional state. "Babe?" Van said as he knelt down next to the bath upon his return. You turned to look at him.

"You're still going to love me, right?"

"What? What's wrong?" You could see him starting to stress.

"You're gonna love this baby so much," you said and cried harder. You covered your face with your hands. You felt Van touch your back, trying to comfort you 

"Yeah. Of course I'll love them,"

"You're not going to have any love left for me," you sobbed out.

"Oh my fucking god, babe," Van said. His hand left your skin and he stood. "Come here," he ordered. You looked up at him as he held a towel out. He helped you stand and wrapped the towel around you. You stood in the bath water and let Van hug you to him. "I will love this child more than anything. But so will you. That's how it's meant to be. But we will still love each other just the same, probably more, yeah?"

"I'm scared,"

"I know. But babe, look," he held your face in his hands, "I will always fucking love you. You as the bossy kid that told me my band sucked. You as the babe that somehow said yes to a date with me. You the first person I ever really was in love with. You that makes that purring sound when you cum. You that my dad adores. You that picked a house with me. You that is giving me a baby. I will always love you, Y/N. You gotta be okay, alright? If you freak out, I freak out, it will be mayhem. You're okay."

You looked into his eyes and knew he was telling you the truth. You were scared that the baby would be more important than you, and you felt guilty for feeling like that. You trusted Van when he said it wasn't going to be like that. It wasn’t like some of the love you had for each other would shift to the baby. Instead, you just grew a bigger heart with more love to give. Slowly, day by day, you started to believe it more. 

…

The final three months flew by for Van. He went to work on the nursery. You found a pastel mint green colour you liked, and he painted the room. When the furniture was all in place, and the room was stocked with toys and books and nappies and everything you could possible need, you thought he'd come back to spending most of his time in the living room. You were wrong. He would go and sit in the rocking chair in the corner of the nursery. Sometimes he'd be reading a book about childbirth, or language development, or instilling a strong moral compass in your offspring. Sometimes he'd just sit and get lost in thought.

For you, the final months dragged on. The baby was heavy. Your back hurt. You couldn’t see your feet. You couldn't drink a cup of tea without needing to go to the toilet straight away. Your internal organs were being squished, and kicked. Sleep was harder and harder to come by. When your due date finally arrived, you were more simply relieved than excited.

Around midday you felt the first contraction. You stood up and looked for Van. He was in the music room and the door was closed. You picked your pre-packed bag up from by the front door and checked everything was in it. You were calm, and surprised at how little the contraction had hurt. Then, as you went to knock on the door to alert Van, the second one hit. The first was a drop of rain. The second was a fucking tidal wave. Van ripped the door open as soon as he heard you scream. He carried you to the car, even though you said you could walk. You breathed hard on the way to the hospital, and snatched the phone out of Van's hand when he tried to drive and call at the same time. Bernie picked up Mary's phone. Your mum answered straight away.

The labour lasted ten hours; a little longer than average but still in the normal range. Van held your hand the entire time and did a good job at keeping you cool. A nurse kept bringing fresh cool water for him to wring a small towel into. It switched between your forehead and the back of your neck. He fed you ice chips and kissed your fingertips every few minutes. He didn't tell you that you were doing good, because he knew you knew you were. Instead he kept repeating that he loved you. "You're a fucking goddess, Y/N," he said, and the nurses laughed at him.

Julian Bernard McCann was born with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes and big blue eyes and a head full of dark hair. You watched Van cut the umbilical cord, then a nurse carried Julian away. You started to cry. "Van?" you whined. He came back to your side.

"There's just like, checking him and stuff. It's okay," he tried to calm you down but you pushed him away and attempted to sit.

"Y/N. You need to stay as you are. The placenta still needs to be delivered." Despite the instructions of the doctor, you kept your focus on the other side of the room. You could feel the placenta arrive, and it was fucking disgusting, but you didn't care. Van did.

"Babe, are you not even gonna look at this? It's gross. You want to see this," he said. Your distress at not holding your baby took second place in his list of things to pay attention to. His face contorted into an expression of curiosity and disgust. The doctor finished up, and nurses took the many towels away from around you, along with all the mess. You slowly moved your legs down and tried to stretch them out. Everything hurt, and a nurse administered pain relief.

Finally after what felt like hours, but in reality was only four minutes, a nurse carried over Julian. As you held him you felt the weight of the love. You had never felt such intense emotion in all your life and you knew nothing would ever be the same. You looked up at Van, who had started to cry.

…

The first visitors were the grandparents. Van handed Julian over to Bernie. You knew Bernie thought he'd never be able to be a father, let alone a grandfather. Mary cried. She was usually so stoic, but like Bernie, she was still in awe of Van's existence. Now there was a little Van too. Your mum informed you that your infant was in fact beautiful. "I know everyone says that about babies, but honestly they're usually very weird looking. This one, though, he's beautiful," she said. Van said that he hoped Julian would take after you, but the blue eyes told you he'd probably be just like his father.

Next in was Larry. Van hesitated when gently placing the sleeping baby in his best friend's arms. "Not gonna drop him, mate," Larry said. Van seemed unconvinced. He made Larry sit, and when he thought that Julian's head wasn't being supported he took him back.

The next day you were home, and it felt good. Your anxiety had completely disappeared as soon as Julian burst into the world. The guys came over with pizza and beer, and as you watched Van pace nervously and hover around whoever was holding Julian, you thought maybe the anxiety had actually just transferred to him.

"Van, come here," you ordered. He looked torn. To get to you he'd have to leave Julian in Bondy's arms. Or, more accurately - arm. Julian was awake and looking around the room. He was bundled up in a blanket and was held close to Bondy's chest with one arm as Bondy told the story of his own messy birth. Van slowly walked to you, then waited for more instructions. When you just smiled at him he looked frustrated.

"What?" he said.

"Are you okay?" Van nodded. A lie. "Can you go get me some pain killers?" He nodded again and you watched him run from the room and return quickly with a box. He handed it to you without making eye contact. "Van?" you said to get his attention. "Water?" He was out and back again within the minute.

"Anything else?" he asked, glancing quickly at you then back at his son. Larry was sitting next to you. You looked at him, and he smirked. He'd obviously noticed it too.

"Van? Can you just sit for a bit? Come here," you said and made him sit on his knees in front of you. You held his face in your hands and stopped him from looking back across the room. "You're freaking out,"

"Yeah,"

"Yeah. What's up?"

"Someone's gonna fucking drop him. I know it," Van said and his tone was so serious it almost sounded like a joke.

"Nobody is going to drop him. You need to relax. Here, have a drink," you spoke softly, gently, trying to not make him feel bad. You leant past him to pick up a beer. You held it up to Larry, who twisted the lid off. You handed it to Van. He looked at the bottle for a second. "Van. Please." He took a sip and kept his eyes on you. He swallowed and nodded. "You're good. I'm good. Our baby's good. 

"Yep. Okay."

Van stayed sitting at your feet for a while, still watching, but calming down. You ran your fingers through his hair and he let his head rest against your leg. Once everyone had held Julian, and agreed he was the best thing that had ever existed ever, you let Van put him down for the night. You stood in the doorway as Van sung a quiet lullaby. It was such a private and intimate moment; you left them to it.


End file.
